My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

According to state-of-the-art analytics and decades of software advancements, my phone calculated that the journey from Amanda's apartment to my home would take somewhere around twenty-five minutes to reach either way.

Amanda made it to my driveway in less than fifteen.

Guess there's just no accounting for the indomitable human spirit.

Hopping in, I couldn't help but notice that my chauffeur looked as if she was being held hostage by some invisible gunman in the backseat with the way she was staring down the road so tentatively.

"So I decided to make meatloaf," she said. The way she said it too; makes me wonder how long she spent thinking of a good meal for dinner. Too long to be saying it like that if you ask me. "Your mom seems to approve. She sent me a thumbs-up and a bunch of hearts. That's good, right?"

"Real good," I said. "Best way to your boyfriend's mom's heart as they say. Meatloaf's the way to go."

"Yeah, I even ran a poll first. Eighty percent of people are of the same mind."

I scoffed. "You… you seriously got your followers' help for something like this?"

"They haven't let me down yet," she said with complete certainty and trust. "And Hayley wasn't answering her phone, so… I had to ask someone."

"Could have asked me."

"You'd tell me to just decide from the heart or something sentimental like that," she said. "And while I usually love that about you, tonight's the time for actual results, thanks."

That does sound like something I would say. But would I be wrong for it? I'll say it again, she has nothing to worry about if she just be herself. Then again, it's also very much like to prefer the methodical and pragmatic approach, so in a way, I suppose this is as real as she gets.

By now, I knew the route to Amanda's apartment practically by heart. Turn a corner past a doughnut shop, ride a long stretch of road for a couple of minutes in the looming shadow of skyscrapers above, and then after a few more stops and junctions, the familiar cluster of high-rise complexes was only just up ahead.

"Ash says thanks, by the way," I said, as we jolted up the metal ramp into the parking lot. "She wanted me to let you know."

"Thanks? Thanks for? Thanks why?" She quizzed, spinning the wheel and aiming us squarely at a space between two other cars. "If it's for giving her Tuesday and Thursday even after insisting she didn't want them, then that's nothing to really thank me for. I mean, it was already hers to take to begin with."

"Your golden tickets," I said. "Thanks to you, she's over the moon."

"Tickets? What—oh. Oh! You finally told her? Wait, hold up, did you tell her they're from me?"

"Yeah, 'course I did."

"No, why would you do that?" Amanda said, gaping at me in total disbelief. "You're her amazing, wonderful master—they're supposed to come from you!"

"What, I'm just supposed to take credit for something you did?"

"Yes!" She said, eyes wide and completely serious. "It's your gift. Yours. It's not from me. It's from you. You're the one who wants this for her—I just so happened to have the means to do it, that's all."

"I don't get you," I said. "You gave me the tickets because you wanted to help, didn't you?"

"If I remember correctly, I was actually helping my boyfriend out with his problem, nobody else's," Amanda said, exiting the car, a small sigh echoing faintly across the concrete lot. "So I don't know why I'm getting the credit for something I didn't do."

"Okay, I'm so confused," I said, trailing after her toward the elevator. "I genuinely don't know what I did wrong here."

"Honestly? Nothing, actually," she said, trudging into the small empty box. I got in with her and she promptly started our ascend with a press and glow of a button. "But, like, I mean… say you start working out, are you going to thank the treadmill for your improved stamina or yourself?"

"The relation?"

"You give someone a new phone, should they give all their thanks to the phone company for making the phone in the first place?"

"Okay, you lost me."

"No, you know what I'm getting at," she said, her peeved expression reflecting on all four sides of the elevator. "I'm gonna assume you're just being intentionally dense and we'll drop it there."

"Yes, that's probably for the best," I said, mirroring back a smirk.

The metal doors parted open, and we stepped out, walking the long, cozily-lit corridor of her apartment floor. There were people spread out in the hall for once. Next-door neighbors and residents I was starting to think didn't actually exist.

I couldn't help but notice that most of the tenants had a hunch in their backs and canes in their grasp. Only a few greeted Amanda as we strolled on by, waving hello with their squinted gazes and wrinkled smiles, and none of them seemed any the wiser of her being any more than just a fellow neighbor.

I suppose if you're gonna live anywhere with her kind of notoriety, it's best to pick a place with people decades off from your target demographic.

"You know, I should probably get you your own key at some point," Amanda mused as she fiddled with the lock on her door. "Every thought about bringing a few of your things over here too? A toothbrush, some clothes…"

"So you could claim them all for yourself?"

"Only the dark ones," she said, pushing her door wide open and stepping in. "You seem to wear those the most often."

Does she just make a mental note every time I wear something new? I don't know whether to be flattered or creeped out. Rather, I feel like I'm somewhere between the two.

"Oh," I paused beneath her doorway. Everywhere I looked, there was nothing but gleams and shimmers. Dusted shelving, polished countertops, and even the floorboards were waxed to the point I could make out my own awestruck expression. "I see you cleaned up a bit."

"Yeah, just a bit," Amanda said casually. "I thought about rearranging the furniture around too—make it look more open, but I didn't want to go too overboard."

Overboard, she says. I didn't think she'd know the meaning of that word after seeing all she'd already done so far. You're telling me the entire time I've been lazing around doing nothing, she was over here committing germinal genocide all the while? And she's gonna be cooking a whole dinner for five on top of all that?

I'd freaking shoot myself right now if it didn't mean also getting blood all over her hard work.

"Thirsty? Want to make you something?" She offered, beelining to the kitchen.

"I've been trying to make coffee your way for practice. Want a taste?"

"Sure," I said, dying quietly with a smile.

After opening up a few cupboards and drawers and measuring and mixing all sorts of fine powder and liquids, Amanda slid over a hot, steaming mug that permeated a thick aroma of promise.

"Been watching and learning," Amanda said, leaning over the kitchen counter with a lofty smirk. "Dropping by the cafe wasn't all just for wasting time and admiring, you know. And know what? I think I perfected it."

I gripped the handle, lifting the swirly, brown goodness closer to my lips and taking a bigger whiff. "I'll be the judge of that."

And true to her word, as I slowly let the warm, soothing elixir trickle down my throat, I could barely differentiate the taste from one of my creations. The texture, potency, she's got it down to a science.

"Alright, yeah," I muttered, smacking my lips and admitting defeat. "You've done well, young grasshopper."

"Well, I had an excellent teacher," Amanda beamed, chuckling. She then reached out and took the cup back, placing her lips around the rims and taking a big swig. "But I think I still prefer yours."

"Despite there being no difference?"

"There's a difference," she said. "You know, sometimes it's not about how something is made, but rather who it was made from. And mine's totally lacking the 'you' element in it. Which is vital to the whole drinking experience in my opinion."

Didn't know coffee could get so deep and nuanced. I was just in it for the bitter delicacy that it was. Who knew there was such a philosophical side to it too?

"In that case, dinner tonight," I mused. "Since you and mom are going to be making it, just what kind of experience can we expect from that?"

"One where they'll leave tonight thinking I'm the most wonderful girl you could ever have met," Amanda sighed, taking refuge again inside the rims of the mug. "Though with all girls that you know of, I'm also fine with settling for second most wonderful."

"Anyone can be wonderful, Amanda," I told her. "But everyone else is going to be lacking that 'you' element that makes you wonderful."

"Ah, I really do love that sentimental part of you, seriously," she said softly. "But there's just one tiny problem with that, you know?"

"There is?"

"Yeah," she sighed again. "You're not the one that's gonna be the judge of me tonight."